For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Inez’s eyes were wide, her lips quivering into the faintest smile. “Thank you, Miss Lockhart. Mayhap…mayhap we could share.”
A ripple of relief moved through the room.
Rose pressed her fingers to her mouth, her throat thick. Rebecca’s hand brushed her arm, steady and warm, as if to say,You see?
“No,” Viola said. “They belong to you. I-I was wrong to assume the worst—” Her eyes moved about the room and stopped when they landed on Rose. She blinked quickly, and Rose realized she was attempting to stem tears.
Perhaps Rosehadbeen playing at charity. But in this moment, as Viola bowed her head, it seemed the other girls were suddenly rallying about her. In that instant, it finally dawned on Rose that charity was not weakness, it was the courage to keep showing up, even after believing one had failed.
Laughter and chatter swelled, the other girls also flocking around Inez, admiring her gloves as if they were treasures newly unearthed.
Rose’s heartbeat pulsed in her ears, and she made a promise to purchase new gloves for all the girls. Seconds later, Viola’s eyes flicked up and caught hers.
The girl hesitated, then crossed the room with slow, measured steps. The proud tilt of her chin remained, but something had shifted—her gaze was less defiant, more searching. “My lady,” she said softly, stopping just short.
Rose’s heart thudded. She had an insane urge to embrace her, to scold her, but all she managed was a cracked voice. “Welcome back, Miss Lockhart.”
A tenseness in Viola’s shoulders released. “I owe you my largest thanks, my lady. You saved my life, and I treated you most abominably.”
Rose blinked. What a watering pot she’d become. She reached for Viola’s hands, cold and thin between her own. “Shall we start again?”
A shuddering breath left Viola. “Oh, yes, Lady Stanford. Yes, please,” she whispered.
Rebecca’s voice carried across the room, brisk and cheerful. “Who will assist me with tea?”
The girls bustled after her, leaving Rose and Viola in a pocket of stillness. Rose squeezed the girl’s hands once more, silently vowing she would not fail her again. Any of them.
Herself, most of all.
~~~
“Despite Tatton’s demands to stay out of Crown business, I must stop at the warehouse before leaving town,” Emerson told the duke.
Ryleigh inclined his head. “I thought as much, Whitmore. But I warn you—”
“There is no need to warn me, Your Grace.” Emerson’s gaze cut to the passing streets, every hackle raised. “It’s a matter of self-preservation. If you must know, I’ve resorted to hiring my brotherandStockton.”
“Stockton,” he said, startled.
If he’d had it in him, Emerson would have smiled, having caught the duke out a second time. “Shufflebottom held a substantial vowel over him. I negotiated it down and bought the note for an amount the marquis found difficult to turn down. It will do Stockton good to work off his debt. Perhaps learnsomething of himself in the process.” Emerson shrugged. “I’ll admit, I found it quite satisfying, setting that fop Shufflebottom on his heels.” He pulled out his watch. After five.
Ryleigh muttered a curse beneath his breath. “I can’t decide if I admire you or should have you committed.” But when the coach halted before the hulking shape of the warehouse, the duke descended with him.
Emerson refrained from asking him if that was wise, as the man’s bearing could not be disguised. Striding to the doors, Emerson entered to lantern light spilling over the threshold. The typically bustling noises of everyday chatter and shouting were missing, raising the hair on his neck.
The air stank of tar and damp hemp, but underneath that…copper. Blood.
Their boots crunched over scattered grain and echoed on the wood planked floors. A toppled crate spilled sawdust across the ground. Emerson pulled up short.
In the shadows, was a body sprawled. “Faulk.” Emerson hurried to his manager’s side, dropping to his haunches. “Christ,” he hissed.
Faulk lay unconscious, his temple split.
Ryleigh crouched beside him. “One of your men?”
“Faulk Haber.” Emerson set his fingers at his neck, pulse thready but present. “He’s alive.”
“Haber’s the one who signed the papers Tatton presented.”
